Little Women: Day Eight
by UndomesticatedSoA
Summary: Elmo's point of view of the events in Eight Maids a Milking in Twelve Days of Christmas by MuckyShroom.


**A/N**

**UndomesticatedSoA - Definition: A collaboration between Voracious Bitch and MuckyShroom, exploring the women of SAMCRO. Some characters are canon, some OFCs. Some situations are AU, some canon. If you want more info, just check out the bio.**

**Disclaimer: All characters, etc from Sons of Anarchy are the property of Kurt Sutter, FX, etc. We own nothing that you recognise from SoA.**

**Our OC's are our own.**

**Parental Advisory Warning: This piece contains bad language, sexual situations and activities that should not be tried at home **

**-o0o-  
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**Eight Maids a Milking**

You would have thought, given the kind of business that she ran, that she'd have seen and done it all; but amazingly enough that wasn't the case. She had never been a whore. Her career had started as a dancer on stage in Vegas, until an unsuitable boyfriend who developed a few issues that had resulted in her learning how to work a pole. She'd never come across anyone that could work a pole quite like she could, holding the audience in the palm of her hand, rapt to the sway of her hips, the extension of her limbs.

Sure she'd seen a lot. The girls that worked for her loved to gossip and no topic was taboo. There wasn't a paraphilia that she hadn't heard of and she'd witnessed quite a few too, but she hadn't actually participated in much that could be considered other than vanilla.

Then she'd met him. She was taking a well deserved break, drinking in a small bar that she knew that was good for people watching. It was Christmas Day. He'd walked over and started to chat her up with easily the most bizarre line she'd ever heard apart from the guy who'd sidled up to her and said "I'm a monkey and you smell like bananas.". With his uncontrollable black curls, flashing, ice blue eyes and solid body he'd been too tasty a prospect to turn down.

Seven amazing, sometimes bizarre, nights later here they were in her kitchen. She was sat on his knee, one arm looped around his shoulders and he was asking her if she wanted to try something 'a little dark'. Everything they'd tried so far had been as incredible and eye-opening as it had promised to be from that first night; but there was a wildness in this guy that she still wasn't sure could be trusted, especially since the night before last she'd found him in this very room fucking the chicken she'd left defrosting on the counter. She'd given him her address, but not her name or any other details about herself. All he knew was where she lived and she wasn't above moving if she felt that it had been a mistake. Houses never meant much to her, they were just a place to sleep and relax. The building was what you made it.

"How dark?" She asked, wanting to know just what she was letting herself in for.

He kissed her and skimmed his hand up to her throat, sliding the fingers and thumb to either side of the slender column. His hand caressed her throat, squeezing slightly, then slightly harder. He pulled back so that he could see her face. She made sure that her expression wasn't giving anything away. Inside she was a swirling vortex of questions, did he know what he was doing, had he done it before, did he only plan to use his hand, how far did he want to go, could he keep control, what made him want to do this?

"That's pretty dark." She was playing for time, imagining the scenario in her head, making her mind up.

"It's an amazing high."

"It's pretty scary." Honesty seemed like the best policy.

"You up for trying it?"

"Have you done this before? I don't fancy being your first time." She knew as well as anyone that the line between pleasure and pain was a fascinating knife edge, but that it took a great deal of experience to navigate the extremes safely.

"Yeah I know what I'm doing. I won't use anything other than my hand."

She cocked her head to one side. "I don't think I wanna know." It was good that he wasn't planning to use a rope or a bag.

She was silent for a moment. "Ever had it done to you?" She had learned from the experts that the more intense acts were best performed by someone who had been on the receiving end. It gave them a deeper understanding of exactly what the sub was feeling, where the limits would be, what could be pushed and what couldn't.

"Yeah. You get all light-headed and giddy. If you let go at just the right time, it's an amazing rush."

"Will it leave a mark?" She really didn't want to be walking around with a bruised throat.

"No, not if I'm gentle."

That was good, that told her that he knew what he was about. Now it was about whether she was prepared to place her faith in his ability to control himself and remain clear-headed. On the one hand he'd defiled her prospective lunch, but on the other he had shown tremendous self-awareness, empathy and control. She remembered the night he'd introduced her to anal sex, how careful he'd been not to hurt her, to make sure that she only felt pleasure at his hands. He was rubbing one palm in lazy circles on her back and other up and down her thigh, a slow pattern, soothing without distracting, gentling her, as one would a nervous animal.

She made up her mind. She was going to trust him. Part of life was keeping your eyes open for opportunities and grabbing them when they came along. This was an opportunity and she was going to take advantage of it.

"Gentle would be good."

He kissed her softly. She knew he would be rough, harsh with her. This gentle attention seemed to be expressing his thanks. She reasoned that even with a complete stranger it took a lot of guts, laid a lot of yourself bare, to make the request he had.

-o0o-

He'd made love to her. There was no other way to describe what they'd been doing. He was so attentive, so gentle, so attuned to her body and her reactions. The first night has been brutal and animalistic; the second had been intense but careful in its way. The third and fourth nights had been power plays, the role of dominant being swapped efficiently between them. The fifth night had been a teasing, testing game of bluff and control before a frantic culmination. She wasn't going to forget that night in a hurry. The sixth night had been, aborted. The seventh had been...free, there was no other way to describe that night, the word just fit. However, none of the previous nights had revealed this level of connection, this amount of affection or fondness

He was leant over her, his weight resting on his palms on either side of her head. She gasped as he moved deeply within her with small, measured thrusts. Between his gaze holding hers and the feel of him in her, the thickness, the friction, the pressure deep inside, she was so close but he wasn't letting her fall into the abyss just yet.

Slowly, carefully, he brought one hand over her throat and lowered it. She felt his palm warm on the tender skin. She couldn't help her sharp intake of breath, a natural, instinctive reaction, as his grip tightened. Her body was torn, confused, conflicted between the steady tempo of his cock moving within her and the relentless pressure of his thumb and forefinger on the blood flow through her carotid arteries as the span of his hand gently pressed down on her windpipe restricting her ability to breathe.

She saw the crazed light ignite in his eyes; saw the flame blaze up through the ice as he squeezed her throat, before dying just as swiftly. For that one moment she was completely paralysed with fear, unable to feel any physically sensation other than to comprehend that she had handed her very life over to a complete stranger. The sudden and brutal realisation hit her like a punch. He actually desired to kill her; not because she had done anything to him, offended him in anyway, but just because he could, just because he had that power, and she had been the one to give it to him.

Fear flooded her body, warring with the pleasure that he was also building within her as he quickened his thrusts, hitting that spot so deep within her. The two sensations, so opposite but complimentary, fought to consumer her. As the battle within raged, darkness started to nibble at the edges of her vision. Oblivion beckoned, shutting out all other awareness. For that instant she felt released, a spirit, floating, unconstrained. The quick laugh escaped her lips without conscious realisation.

Then suddenly she was cuming, harder than ever before. All the blood in her body seemed to be determined to escape any way it could. Her heart pumped the viscous liquid in simultaneous thumping beats to her brain and her pussy. The two ends of her body synchronized in a relentless, pulsing rhythm. The darkness was instantaneously replaced by firework bursts of white light. She felt him let go, felt him give himself over to the base elements, slamming into her, felt him release hot within her as she'd never felt a man before.

They were both gasping for breath, soaked in sweat, limpid, spent. It took a while for them to recover their breath, to regain lucidity and to voice thoughts.

"I can't believe I let you do that." She fixed her eyes on the ceiling, unable to look at him as she remembered the fierce light in his eyes, the realisation that he wanted to take her life.

He languidly raised a hand to grip her chin and force her gaze to his. "You enjoyed it." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah. But I must be insane. I hardly know anything about you and I let you choke me." She stifled a sob, unable to prevent the tears building in her eyes.

He brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheek bones before slowly rolling off her, falling out of her.

She rolled onto her side, curling into a ball. She didn't want to run. Perversely she needed him there, near her. She didn't want to get away from him, but she couldn't bear to be touching him right now. She felt the hysterics building, felt her breath give way, making room for the wracking sobs that were just a heartbeat away.

She felt his hand grip her shoulder, almost bruising, pulling her upright. He didn't say anything, just cradled her against his warm body. She felt him gather her hair in one hand, holding tightly as he ran the brush through the ends, careful to smooth the knots out without tugging the strands out of her scalp. She relaxed slightly under his ministrations, submitting to the grooming, giving in to this most basic method of comfort.

When he had un-knotted her hair he started pulling the brush in long strokes from her scalp to the tips. She leaned back against him, allowing her head to fall back, affording him better access. The motion of the brush was soothing. The regular strokes, just the feeling of someone taking care of her, eased her. She concentrated on the path of the brush and eventually she relaxed, felt her muscles release their tension. Her breathing deepened and her head lolled. She fell into a stupor, the point between sleep and awake where tiredness overtakes and the most important thing is being able to close your eyes.

A small part of her registered that he'd stopped her from falling when the trance had claimed her. She felt the warmth of his arm clasped around her. She heard the muffled thump of the brush as it hit the carpeted floor. She felt herself being laid against the pillows with infinite care. She was beyond shocked when she felt the warmth of his body wrap around her, but she couldn't find the will to move. She was exhausted. She felt his deep inhalations against her neck, felt them become deep and regular as he drifted into sleep. Encased in his arms, cherished, needed, protected; she followed him into unconsciousness.


End file.
